


The Right To Protect You

by Writing-Rammstein (writingfanfic)



Category: Rammstein
Genre: F/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Past Abuse, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-19 04:36:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13696989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Rammstein
Summary: For the prompt: 'Can you write a Till story where he fights the main girl’s asshole abusive boyfriend.'Ofc! Contains abuse mentions and may be triggering.





	The Right To Protect You

“Thanks, but I’m doing much better.”

You look at your drink, and the hand that almost delicately touches your shoulder makes you wince a little; it is withdrawn, and you shake your head.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Christoph says, quietly, and you look up at him. “I’m glad you feel… good to go out. We will keep you company, don’t worry.” You smile at him, and Richard puts his hands on your shoulders. You don’t wince this time. You’re almost proud.

“Don’t worry. That asshole isn’t going to show his face within a hundred miles of anyone who’d actually fight back.” You nod, looking at your feet, and he smiles at you. “And there are three of us! Think of us as your… bodyguards.” His grin widens. “We’ll carry you out above everyone’s heads for no extra cost.”

“Thanks, guys. I just… want some space to have some fun.” You can’t remember the last time you had fun, you think, and the feeling chokes you with fear. _He’d be so mad if he found you in this bar with **three men** _ \- and then you close your eyes. You don’t have to listen to him any more. You’re free.

“We can go somewhere quieter, if you would like,” Christoph says, gently, and you shake your head.

A hand is extended to you, and you look up to see Till, as quiet as ever, looking, steely, at you. You take it, and he nods.

“Nobody gets near her,” he says, to the others, and you get the air of somebody who is leading; Richard nods, sharpening up just a little, and Christoph smiles at you.

“Would you like a drink?” he asks, and you nod.

“Orange juice, please,” you say, quietly, and then shake your head. “Uh… a screwdriver. On the rocks.” You smile a little as you say each word, and Christoph beams.

“You go! Good girl,” he says, and as he trots over to the bar, you realise Till is still holding your hand. He squeezes it and lets go, and you look at Richard, who lounges on the other side of the booth.

“Now… we are going to make up for being bad enough friends that we didn’t spot this happening,” the spiky-haired man says, for once entirely serious, and you shake your head. “We are, (Y/N). I promise.”

* * *

 

Christoph picks you up and spins you around, and you hug him tightly, before waving him off down the street with a yelled, “ _Tschüss!_ ” that makes Richard roll his eyes before dropping his cigarette onto the floor and stomping it out.

“I hope we gave you a good time, sweetheart,” he says, and you hug him too. “Aww, don’t make me soppy. Now, you know you can call us whenever you need to? You have my number?”

“Yes, Richard,” you say, quietly, and he grins, before looking at Till.

“<You get her home safe,>” he says, in German, and Till nods. “<Good.> Goodnight, (Y/N).” He kisses your cheek, and you watch him cross the road to hail a taxi before Till puts his arm around you and begins to guide you down the street.

“That was a nice night. Thank you,” you say, gratefully, and he nods.

“I do not feel comfortable taking you back to your place alone,” he murmurs. “If you like, I will sleep on the sofa. I have no problem making sure that cunt does not come back to your house.” You shake your head. It’s only one night, and then your roommate will be back - and besides, you live in a gated community and you’re pretty sure your ex has no idea where you live. You were careful. “If you are sure. But Richard is correct. You can call us whenever you need us.”

“I know. I feel… better now.” You shake your head. “It feels like coming out of prison. I don’t know what to do.”

“I-” Till pauses. “We will help. Whatever you need. But you can be your own person now.” You nod, and lean your head against him. “I-”

“ _You fucking bitch_.”

Your stomach tightens so badly you think you might vomit, and you stagger around - he’s there, oh god, your ex is _there_ , he’s standing in the street not three feet away from you, and he’s drunk - you can tell, all the microscopic things that you had to learn to read as if they were large print. His eye is twitching. His breathing is off. He’s hammered, and you’re going to fucking die…

“ _Who the fuck is this?!_ ”

You have thought about this - on your brighter days, you have been Wonder Woman, beating the hell out of this asshole with your golden lasso of truth and justice. But that isn’t real life, is it? You look up at him, mouth already forming the first syllable of the word ‘sorry’ as your hands come up instinctively, and he steps towards you, already raising his fist-

The sound is a little like a cannonball hitting wet cement from a few hundred yards, and you stagger back, opening your eyes. Did he hit you? You don’t feel it - your ex is reeling back, and Till is standing between you both, pulling back his fist for another shot, and he looks _manic_.

His eyes are like cat’s eyes, burning, and his teeth are in a snarl; your ex hits the pavement after what seems like 500 years, moaning as his hands fly to his face, and Till steps forward, dragging him up and in one fluid movement throwing him into a electricity box. He bounces off, the metal clang making a few people turn around, and your hands fly to your mouth in terror as Till pulls him up again by his hair.

“You do not touch this woman again,” he snarls, and your ex, clearly too drunk to use any of the sense Till hasn’t knocked out of him, flails pathetically. Blood is running down from his flattened nose across his front teeth. He did that to you, once. “You do not _come near_ her again!” Till throws him again, this time across the street and into a shop doorway. The people up the street have wisely decided to move on, but if the police come, it’s Till who’s getting cuffed, and you grab him. “<I’d punch you into the _fucking ground_ if I could, you selfish, worthless piece of shit, but she deserves _better_ than friends who’d stoop to your _fucking_ level…! >”

“Till, please, we have to go, please,” you whisper in terror, and he delivers one last brutal kick to your ex’s ribs, before grabbing you and marching you down the street. “Till…”

“We have to get several streets away, or he will never be able to touch you again, because I will have removed his hands,” he says, tersely, and you bury your face in his chest. “I am sorry. I do not want to be that friend… that friend of yours who is capable of that violence.”

“I…” You are scared. You have to admit it, you are scared, but the fire-eyed Till you saw beating seven shades of shit out of your ex and this Till whose green eyes are full of warm concern for you and hatred for the man barely seem to be the same person. “Th-th-thank you…”

He pulls you close to him, and you realise that he makes you feel safe. He makes you feel safer than your ex ever could, and you don’t regret what he did for a moment, even if it did scare you a little.

“I will sleep on your sofa tonight,” he says, gently. “And every night, if you will allow me. I will never let anybody hurt you again.” You close your eyes. “I am only asking for the right to protect you. Nothing more.”

You nod, and he hugs you again. He does not try to kiss you, despite the obvious meaning behind his previous words, and the respect that shows makes your heart flutter.

“Now, we go to your house,” he says, just as gently, and you smile at him shakily. “I do not feel he will press charges.” You take his hand again, and as you walk down the street, you lean your head against him once more.


End file.
